


Last of the Real Ones

by justasock_x



Series: M A N I A by Fall Out Boy [2]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Come Eating, Dirty Talk, Flirting, Licking, M/M, Mild D/S undertones, Multiple Orgasms, No Beta, Oral Sex, Pet Names, Punishment, Scent Kink, Soft!Geralt, Soft!Jaskier, Spanking, Teasing, Verbal Humiliation, possessive!Geralt, possessive!Jaskier
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-25
Updated: 2020-08-25
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:19:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26089315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justasock_x/pseuds/justasock_x
Summary: I know this whole damn city thinks it needs you, but not as much as I do.Geralt doesn't like to share. He makes his feelings clear to Jaskier.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: M A N I A by Fall Out Boy [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1894084
Comments: 6
Kudos: 245





	Last of the Real Ones

**Author's Note:**

> Fics in this series are oneshots loosely based on the songs from the album M A N I A, by Fall Out Boy. Not beta-read, all mistakes are my own. Fandom knowledge comes exclusively from the TV series, other fics, and cursory Googling.

Geralt landed with a thump where the cockatrice had thrown him, sprawled on the dirt and slightly winded. Jaskier was safe back at the inn, but the Witcher was eager to wrap this hunt up and return to his bard. They had parted ways hours ago, Jaskier promising to earn some coin by singing and Geralt already focusing on the hunt ahead of him, pressing an absent-minded kiss to the bard's forehead before disappearing out the door. He had carried the warm scent of Jaskier's sunshine-happiness with him into the fight, but now all he could smell was death and decay, the rich and earthy smell of the forest, and the rage emanating from the injured beast in front of him. He had managed to get a swipe in with his sword, but the beast was strong and smart, and every time Geralt thought he had a killing blow, the cockatrice would feint away. Growling in irritation, Geralt charged forward as the beast did, casting _Aard_ and snarling triumphantly when it caught the cockatrice off guard and caused it to falter. Taking the opening, Geralt thrust his sword hard into the chest cavity of the creature, blood spraying across his face and body as it slumped to the ground with a shriek.

He took his time removing the head of the creature and butchering the rest, taking feathers and some of the organs to sell. They could make a decent amount from this hunt if Geralt found the right buyers. He made his way out of the forest, one bag leaking blood slung over his shoulder and one in his hand, filled with organs wrapped in parchment and the feathers he had plucked to sell for quills. Roach snorted in disgust but stayed still while Geralt affixed his prizes to her saddle and hoisted himself into it, rubbing a soothing hand down her neck in thanks.

"Let's go, Roach. Time to get back." 

She trotted off at his command, and he made his way into town to visit the alderman and deliver his proof for payment. The alderman bought the organs as well, and Geralt left him with his load lighter and his purse heavier. Satisfied, the Witcher returned to the inn and handed Roach off to the stable boy, pressing a few coins into his hand to ensure her a treat for her hard work. He entered the inn to a cacophony of noise, Jaskier singing while the patrons shouted along drunkenly, clapping and stamping their feet. The inn went quiet when he barged inside, wide human eyes focused on the blood covering him and drying in his hair. Jaskier's strumming ceased like a lute string had snapped. The Witcher shook his head slightly and Jaskier visibly relaxed, lips turning up at the corners. _No_ , Geralt's head shake meant, _I'm not injured; everything is fine._

"Fear not, good people!" Jaskier cried. "The noble White Wolf, Geralt of Rivia, has slain your terrible beast!" 

He ignored the bard and left him downstairs with the gawking townspeople, heading for their room and the bath he knew would be sent up for him. He had stripped out of his armor and tunic by the time the servant girls arrived, beginning to fill the beaten tub in the room with steaming water. He ignored their staring and obvious curiosity until they were gone, and then he stripped out of the rest of his blood soaked clothing and sank into the bath. Taking up the soap they had left him, Geralt began to methodically wash himself, taking care to get the blood and dirt fully washed from his hair and under his fingernails. Jaskier would have a fit if Geralt showed back up with blood caked under his nails. His flighty, proper bard, who followed him into grisly hunts in swamps and caves and a life on the road, always fussed about mess. 

When Geralt returned to the bar downstairs, the townsfolk had resumed singing along to Jaskier's songs, and now that he was damp and clean, no one paid him any mind. Taking his standard post in the corner, Geralt sipped at his ale and watched Jaskier finish his performance. 

"Thank you everyone!" the bard said, bowing as everyone clapped. "Thank you so much!" 

He watched the room idly as Jaskier approached with his own ale and sat down, eyes alight.

"How did it go?" he asked quietly, and Geralt sighed.

"Can we just get to the part where you demand details?" he asked, rolling his eyes and taking a long swig of ale. Jaskier looked affronted.

"Well, excuse _me_ , Mr. Witcher sir," he said back in a mocking tone. "I'm only trying to tell the story of the greatest Witcher who ever lived!"

Geralt set his ale down and leaned forward. "Stop saying things like that."

Jaskier opened his mouth to retort, but before he could, a large, red-faced man stormed up to them and grabbed him by the collar of his shirt, shoving him up against the wall and shaking a fist in his face. His mug of ale fell from his hand and dropped to the ground, splashing around their feet.

“You! You bastard, you fucked my daughter!” he snarled. Geralt paid no mind to his wet boots as he moved quickly to step between his foolish companion and the angry man.

“I didn’t!” Jaskier denied, raising his hands as the man snorted in disbelief. Geralt calmly but firmly pulled the larger man away from the bard and began leading him to the door. He continued blustering as Geralt followed him outside.

"Sir, I apologize. Allow me to handle this, please. It won't happen again," the Witcher told him, voice stern. The man seemed to deflate. 

"She's a married woman, y'know," he said, fists slowly unclenching. "Two daughters."

Geralt made a sympathetic noise, but could feel his hackles rising. "I understand," he said, voice carefully neutral. "I will...impress upon him, of course, the consequences of his impudence." The man seemed satisfied, and he clapped Geralt on the back before heading off. Geralt watched him go and then turned back to go into the inn, approaching Jaskier where he was kneeling and helping one of the servants clean up the spilled ale.

"Another, sir?" the pretty girl asked when they were finished and Jaskier had helped her to her feet.

"No, thank you my dear. I think that's enough for me, this evening." Jaskier laughed airily and the girl flushed. Geralt growled lowly.

Jaskier startled at the sound and watched silently as Geralt resumed his seat and picked up his own, intact drink. Taking his cues from the Witcher, his bard sat down as well, hands folded on the table as he chewed his lower lip.

“I have half a mind to take you over my knee,” Geralt murmured to break the impasse, finishing his ale. "A married woman, Jaskier, honestly. Two children."

“That’s not fair, Geralt!” Jaskier argued, leaning forward. “I didn't touch her! I haven’t touched another soul since...well, since you,” he admitted, lowering his gaze coyly. Geralt felt a surge of heat curl in his gut at the admission and tried viciously to stamp it down. 

“No one compares to you, Geralt. I know why you’re angry. You don't want to share me,” Jaskier teased, standing and stretching. “Well, I’m not interested in any fair maiden or lord to take me to bed when I have my Witcher.” He grinned cheekily and slung his lute over his back, heading up the stairs and whistling as he went. Geralt’s jaw clenched.

Jaskier was right, of course. Geralt was jealous. He knew Jaskier had a long and sordid romantic history. Geralt had always avoided romantic entanglements; they tended to end poorly in his experience. His most notable relationships, Renfri and Yennefer, had both soured terribly, and he didn’t want to lose Jaskier in the same way. He had cared for both of the women, but Jaskier had awakened a part of him he long thought dead. He didn’t just care for Jaskier, he loved him. He thought it might be time to let Jaskier know the depths of his feelings. They hadn’t talked much about what “they” were after their first encounter, but it hadn’t stopped them from having several more. Jaskier was so deliciously responsive, his arousal thick and heavy in the air when Geralt breathed him in deep, and the Witcher could admit that he was more than a little addicted to the way Jaskier fell apart for him. 

When Geralt entered the room, the smell of Jaskier’s arousal tickled his nose and he shut and locked the door before striding over to the bed where Jaskier was idly strumming his lute. The bard looked up at him and set the lute to the side just in time to be hauled up by his doublet and kissed ferociously, his mouth plundered as he held onto Geralt’s shoulders for balance. Jaskier gasped and Geralt slid his tongue into the warm cavern of the bard’s mouth, chasing that sweet, heavy scent to the back of his tongue and swallowing his quiet noises right into his own chest.

“Jaskier,” he said when he tore himself away, “I need to tell you something.”

Jaskier looked a little dazed and rumpled, but he nodded, stroking a hand gently down Geralt’s cheek. “What is it, Geralt?”

“I don’t want to share you,” the Witcher admitted, sitting down on the single bed in the room and pulling at Jaskier’s hand until he sat next to him, their thighs brushing. Geralt kept Jaskier’s hand in his and focused on the thin, strong fingers as he struggled to find the words.

“I _can’t_ share you. You smell...Gods, Jaskier, you smell incredible when you smell like the both of us.”

“Witcher,” Jaskier said quietly, eyes gentle. “Just who do you think I’ve been spending my nights with? You, darling. Just you. You are the sun, Geralt, and I’m just the planets spinning around you.”

Geralt took a deep breath and caught Jaskier’s chin, bringing their mouths together to press a chaste kiss to the bard’s lips. “I will protect you with everything I have,” he said seriously, pressing kisses to Jaskier’s hair as the bard crawled into his lap. Having a human lover and traveling companion was dangerous, especially on a Witcher’s Path; they were so fragile. Jaskier was so fragile.

“I know,” he answered with a teasing smirk, bringing their mouths together again. Geralt let a low noise rumble out of his chest and tightened his grip on Jaskier’s hips, their mouths moving together as he began to rock Jaskier in his lap. As their arousal intensified, the kissing grew hungrier, until they were panting into each other’s mouths and Jaskier was letting out quiet whines with every movement. Geralt pulled away from Jaskier’s swollen mouth to tug the bard’s doublet and undershirt off, fingers raking over exposed flesh as soon as the garment was dropped onto the floor. Jaskier was too busy gasping as Geralt bit at his throat and stroked along his back to protest the treatment of his finery.

Geralt pushed Jaskier to standing and followed suit, stripping them both to nudity in quick, efficient movements. He lay down and Jaskier was helpless but to follow, sprawling out on top of the Witcher and kissing him messily, grinding down mindlessly against the thickly muscled thigh shoved between his legs.

“Oh, Geralt,” he whined when the Witcher’s big hand came down between them, taking them in hand and beginning a slow, torturous rhythm. Jaskier’s hand joined him after a moment and together they touched each other, cocks sliding pleasantly against one another as they smoothed their precome down to ease the way. Jaskier was alive on top of him, letting out quiet gasps when Geralt twisted his wrist at the head before sliding back down. Their climaxes were unhurried but bone-deep, and when they had both finished spilling all over each other’s bellies, Jaskier laid down right on top of Geralt and pressed the mess between them.

"I could never want anyone else, you know," Jaskier said softly in the aftermath, resting on Geralt's chest contentedly. Geralt _hmm_ ed in response, but didn't speak. Jaskier didn't press, just started humming under his breath as they came down from the high. Their bodies cooled as their breaths evened, and eventually Jaskier spoke again.

“Now how do we smell?” he asked as he settled in for sleep, body pressed tight to the Witcher's.

“Perfect,” Geralt answered, tightening his grip around Jaskier as his own eyes drifted closed.

* * *

Geralt blinked awake slowly the next morning, body warm and relaxed where it was curled around Jaskier. It had surprised Jaskier at first, the way that Geralt would latch onto him if they were close enough while sleeping. Even before they had tumbled into bed together, they had shared warmth during colder nights of travel so Jaskier wouldn’t freeze. The bard had awoken many times to Geralt plastered to his back, the Witcher’s arm snug around his waist and pinning him tight. It had always comforted him, even before he’d realized his attraction. Jaskier knew Geralt would keep him safe, and nowhere was as safe as glued to his Witcher’s side.

Geralt took the time before Jaskier woke to study the man in his sleep. He was truly beautiful, his long lashes resting delicately against his high cheekbones as he huffed a breath out and wriggled closer to the source of heat at his side. Geralt’s grip tightened, and he brushed the hair out of Jaskier’s face. Was this what love felt like? His heart almost ached with how full it was for this silly human bard, who followed him into danger without question and never smelled of fear. He wanted to let Jaskier sleep, but he remembered the fury of the shamed father from the night before, and he shook the bard gently until his blue eyes blinked open sleepily.

“Time to go?” he asked around a yawn, rubbing at his eyes and pressing a kiss to Geralt’s cheek.

Geralt froze for a moment, slow heart picking up considerably at the thoughtless, achingly sweet gesture. He nodded, cleared his throat, and then stood, going to the leftover bathwater and reheating it before wiping himself down perfunctorily. Jaskier and he went through their morning ritual and soon they were back on the road, Roach walking sedately while Jaskier strummed his lute and ambled along next to them. They made good time towards the next town, always chasing the next contract and coin, but it started to get dark and Geralt was always mindful of Jaskier’s human limitations. They found a suitable place to make camp, and Geralt went off to hunt while Jaskier started the fire and gathered more wood, laying out their bedrolls side by side and keeping Roach company while she grazed nearby.

While the Witcher hunted, he thought back on that sweet press of the bard's mouth to his cheek this morning. It had been an innocent, touching gesture and reminded Geralt of the way he'd thoughtlessly kissed the bard's forehead before disappearing into the forest. He wasn't sure how to parse the well of emotions that crept up his throat when he thought about his bard for too long, and he pushed the thoughts of Jaskier aside to focus on hunting for their dinner so they had something to eat.

In the end, Geralt returned with two hares, and Jaskier watched with only mild distaste as the Witcher skinned and roasted them over the fire. The bard wouldn’t complain - Geralt’s hunting put food in their bellies - but he always felt bad for the poor animals and he really didn’t care to watch them being butchered even if there was something oddly poetic about Geralt’s efficient movements. Jaskier knew that Geralt didn't let the animals suffer. It was just another testament to the man's innate goodness, as far as the bard was concerned. They ate their dinner in companionable silence, and when they were done and both staring at the flames, Geralt finally spoke.

“I believe I owe you a spanking.” The Witcher had been thinking about little else all day during their travels, and he smirked when the clean summer smell of his bard went thick and spicy.

“Oh?” Jaskier asked, attempting to sound casual. The Witcher’s eyes glinted and he let out a quiet chuckle. 

“Oh, indeed. Come on, bard. Trousers down, over my knee. Be a good boy.” 

Jaskier was frozen for a second, and Geralt wondered if he had gone too far. Before he could think on it, Jaskier was scrambling into motion, stripping his boots, breeches, and underclothes off in record time. He folded the breeches hastily and threw them down before he arranged himself over Geralt’s lap, bare bottom up and so fucking tempting. Geralt ran a hand down the curve, squeezing slightly, and Jaskier gasped.

“We’ll do ten,” Geralt decided, still rubbing over the bard’s ass. Jaskier whimpered. 

“Hush,” Geralt said, letting his hand come down in a soft slap against the bard’s upper thigh. “Behave, and maybe I’ll let you come afterwards. You’re a terrible slut, you know, Jaskier. Honestly, the amount of trouble this cock of yours has gotten us into.”

Jaskier's protest was cut off by his whine when Geralt brought his hand down hard onto the right side of his ass, body arching slightly at the stinging impact. Geralt held him down with an immovable hand on the small of his back and hit him again, grinning when the scent of Jaskier’s arousal grew thicker and heavier, settling around him like a fog. He inhaled deeply, his cock twitching where it was pressed against his breeches and struck again. Every slap was calculated with just the right force in just the right place to have Jaskier soaring in pleasure and pain, grunting at each impact. By the time the last slap rained down on his ass, it was flushed and hot to the touch, and his cock was leaking so much it was dirtying Geralt’s trousers, scent thick in his nose. 

“On your knees,” he said, pushing until Jaskier sank to his knees on the bedroll and rested his warmed bottom against his heels. Geralt stood and yanked the rest of Jaskier’s clothes off before he unlaced his own breeches, pulling his cock out and giving it a few pumps, pleasure sparking under his skin at the sight of Jaskier sitting so obediently, waiting for further instruction. The bard’s cock was heavy and dripping, but Geralt tangled a hand in his soft brown hair and pulled him forward, ignoring Jaskier’s arousal for the moment as he sated his own in the bard’s warm, willing mouth. 

Jaskier still couldn’t take him all the way, but he was an enthusiastic participant as his mouth was fucked perfectly - hard enough to make him gag and splutter, tears and drool dripping down his face, but not so hard that he wouldn’t be able to sing when they made it to the next town. Geralt was careful to control his own and Jaskier’s movements, making sure he never pressed too far, took too much. Jaskier’s reddened mouth around his cock was a sight, and he fucked into the willing cavern for a few more thrusts before coming in the bard’s mouth with a groan, fingers tightening in his hair as Geralt pushed his hips into Jaskier’s face and felt the bard swallow around him.

Everything was still for a moment, and then Geralt released his grip on Jaskier and let the bard pull back, coughing slightly and wiping at his face. He was still hard and leaking, Geralt noted as he sank to his knees and took the bard’s mouth in a filthy kiss, tongue fucking into his mouth as the Witcher’s cock had just moments before and chasing the salty taste of his own release on the bard's tongue. He reached between them to grasp Jaskier in his fist and the bard groaned, hips automatically thrusting up in search of friction. Geralt brought him off in firm, deliberate pulls, thumbing over his weeping head until he tilted his head back and came with a shout all over Geralt’s hand. The Witcher held his hand up to Jaskier’s face, and the bard gently took it between his own and licked Geralt’s fingers clean, sucking obscenely before using little kitten licks of his soft pink tongue. He ended the clean up with a kiss pressed to Geralt’s saliva-slick palm, and sat back.

“No one else will ever touch me again,” Jaskier admitted in the silence between them once they’d cleaned up and settled into their bedrolls. Jaskier was pressed to the Witcher’s side, head resting on his chest as his fingers drew nonsensical patterns through Geralt’s silvery chest hair. “You have to know I’m yours.”

Geralt tightened his arm around his bard. “Yes, you are mine. And I am yours.”


End file.
